Page 108 of Who's Saving You
Soba dances back and cuts left, avoiding a defender. His offensive line is doing well to hold them, but the Drillers are covering every open man. Soba has no choice but to launch it. He pulls the ball back to his ear and lets it fly. It’s a perfect spiral and sails to the right side of the field.
“He’s going deep! Down the sideline!”
Time seems to slow, and I try to stand but am reminded why I’m up here and not on that field. I lean forward, the receiver Soba throws to is running, stretching every inch of himself, trying to beat the throw. The Drillers' corner is right there, hot on his heels. They both jump for the ball, fingers tangling as they collide midair.
“Tipped—no—HE’S GOT IT! HE’S GOT IT!”
“Den paízei! No fucking way!” I shout out, half-laughing, half-not believing what I’m seeing. “Lucky bastard threw up a Hail Mary!”
Scottie is jumping up and down while Valentina stands with her hands half-covering her face. We watch in awe as the receiver bobbles the ball, trying to hold it tight to his chest, stumbling along the sideline, dancing just inside the white line until he hits that end zone, the corner coming down on top of him.
One ref’s arms shoot up, signifying a touchdown, while the other throws his sideways, signifying no catch. The stadium is rocking, and the confusion of seeing the throw, the catch, and the unknown outcome is too much. I jump up, balancing on one leg, while Noelle holds me steady. Just then, two security guards come in and escort Scottie and Valentina out of the box and head down onto the field. Thisis the last play; this is going to decide it all, and they’ve got the girls heading down to be with their men.
“That’s a catch!” I yell. “What are they looking at?”
The refs come together, talking quickly before ducking under the hood, watching angles on replay, as teammates from both sidelines filter onto the field, both arguing for a different outcome. The coaches are pulling them back; there’s so much commotion.
Cameras zoom in on both Loving and Soba, split screen. Both have eyes glued to the Jumbotron which shows the refs discussing the play. The team mills around them, talking animatedly, desperate for the right answer for their team. I don’t know how to feel. I know what I saw. I know it looks like a catch to me, but what outcome do I want? They both made it to the biggest sports stage, but there’s only one winner today. And it’s going to be impossible to celebrate without feeling the loss, as well.
The stadium hushes as the ref takes the field.
“After review, the receiver had both feet down in bounds and maintained control of the football as he crossed the line. The ruling on the field stands. It is a touchdown.”He raises his hands straight up, palms inward, signaling a touchdown, then points toward the goal line, spotting the ball for the kick.
Our box goes wild, and though we’re all upset for Loving, we cheer for Soba because, in actuality, we all made it. Three kids who started with a dream in the backyard are now living that dream.
The scoreboard changes. Rage 27, Drillers 25. The announcers are dumbstruck, the crowd is insane.
“Oh, my word… Soba has taken the lead! With seconds left on the clock, the underdogs have stunned the Drillers!”
“I don’t know how we got here, Jim, but this is absolute cinema! Nicholas Soba and Nico Loving, two-thirds of the Trickie Nickies that captured the sports world, had everyone talking, doubting, and cheering–”
“And look at this outcome! It doesn’t get any better than this.”
The Rage line up for the kick, but it doesn’t mean anything. The teams are already spilling onto the field, as confetti rains down. I watch with tears in my eyes as my two best friends meet in the middle of that field, hugging, desperate to hold onto each other, not wanting to come up for air and live in this bubble for one more moment. Cameras spin around them, reporters gather, ready for that first comment. And when they both come up for air, they look towards my box. I stare down at them, my palm pressed against the glass, and watch as they both throw up three fingers, spreading them apart, then pressing them together, symbolizing the three of us.
“How do you feel?” Noelle asks quietly as we stand together, arms around each other.
I smile and wipe my eyes. “I’m not really sure.” She chuckles and squeezes me tighter. “It’s like being told to pick a favorite kid. I don’t think I can do it.”
“Well, since you put it that way, how about you pickourfavorite kid?”
I look at her, her eyes twinkling with mischief, her lips tugging into a smile while she waits for me to catch up. “Our favorite–do you mean–Noelle, what do you mean?”
She bubbles over and tears spill now. “We’re pregnant, Nik. You’re going to be a dad!”
My heart explodes, and I pull her in for a hug, kissing her and holding on just as tight as my two best friends are, not wanting this moment to end either.
46
Who’s Saving Him?
By Noelle Moreno, Falls Press
Nik Papas is not perfect.
That’s the first truth worth saying out loud, because for months, the world has been content to paint him as flawless. Rookie of the Year, face of the South Carolina Warriors, patron saint of charity events, a young man with a smile that could light up a stadium, a flawless friend. “Saint Nik” became less a nickname and more a brand.
But brands are polished, and men are complicated. And the story of Nik Papas is not one of perfection or being born on the right side of the tracks. It’s one of shadows, sacrifice, and the quiet weight of choices made after dark.
